There was something soothing about the sound of rattling dishes and pots and pans being clanged in the hollows of the kitchen; something soothing about the muffled crowd noises and the sound of whistles blowing on the television; crickets chirping by the porch and lawns being mowed in the not so far off distance; passing cars in the street and the warm, friendly conversation underpinning it all. There was something comforting about the smell of the fresh-cut grass that wafted through the air- its sweetness intermingling with the pungent aroma of mincemeat pie, left over turkey, fresh home-made cranberry sauce and those good old peanut butter cookies; something reassuring about the wind-borne harvest of brightly-colored leaves that spiraled from the trees in fitful gusts of wind- invisible little kingdoms that came and went, rolling the leaves up ahead of them like breakers on a beach or spinning them off in whirling-dervish eddies; something disarming about the single-minded squirrels that cross-crossed the yard and foraged the rooftops, combing the gutters for pecans and other stores for the winter months ahead. And there was something dulcet about the squabbling squabbling blue jays; something alluring about the crispness of the air, the blueness of the sky, and the puffy white clouds- headed nowhere in a hurry; something seductive about the afternoon sun and the postcard sheen it sprayed on everything like a laminit.
It was all a mishmash, a jumble of little things that meant almost nothing; yet combined was everything. They were the elements of a feeling, and there was nothing quite like it- the incidental things that made one feel good to be alive. It was an inside-outside thing, and it was unimpeachable.
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